


Phantom Pains and Pudding Cups

by aug325, CephalonGhost



Series: Membrane's Guide to Becoming a Better Parent: LOSE YOUR FUCKING ARMS [2]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: If Jhonen won't fill the gaps then I WILL, Loss of Limbs, Membrane sucks at Parenting but he's TRYING, Panic Attacks, Professor Membrane Tries to Be a Better Parent, Pudding, hospital recovery, phantom limb pains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24674479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aug325/pseuds/aug325, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CephalonGhost/pseuds/CephalonGhost
Summary: The first stage of recovery after losing your arms to a pair of vengeful sharks and learning about how much you failed as a parent is hard.Especially if you're Professor Membrane.
Series: Membrane's Guide to Becoming a Better Parent: LOSE YOUR FUCKING ARMS [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1782715
Comments: 50
Kudos: 219





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing from "Sharks AREN'T Friends".

Professor Membrane sat up as much as the raised reclining cushions of his bed would allow him. He was hunched over, teeth clenched and sweat dripping down his brow as a new wave of phantom limb pain hit him once again. The sensations of crushing pressure and burning would arise any time his brain would unconsciously send a signal to try and move, or even just twitch, the muscles in either of his missing arms. A pain that felt more intense than what plagued his still remaining body parts, even with the drip of morphine in place to dull his senses.

A strangled cry managed to rip its way out of the Professor’s throat as he threw his head back and fell against the bed panting heavily. The glasses given to him in place of his dear headset goggles fell askew from the movement, but he hardly cared for the moment. Instead, he focused on willing himself to take slow and steady breaths.

In… Out… In… Out… In…

Out…

As his breathing calmed, so did the pain begin to taper off until he was left feeling nothing but the numbness caused by the drugs in his system.

“Get a hold of yourself, Professor.” He growled to himself, attempting to raise his own spirits through talking himself up as he normally did when working. “This is just increased synaptic responsiveness caused by the damage to my nerve endings! An absolutely _normal_ scientific phenomenon experienced by amputees within the first months of surgery… _And sometimes for the rest of their life_ …” He could hear the confidence in his own voice beginning to falter through that admittance. “But I’ve been through worse…! I can endure this! I can—”

Another wave of pain caused him to choke on the rest of his words as he curled in on himself again. More strangled cries and gasps leaving him in the seconds it took for this shorter bout of pain to pass him by.

“ _I can… Do this…_ ” He forced himself to finish his sentence as he gingerly uncurled himself to lie back again. Being extra careful and mentally reminding himself to only use his core muscles and _only_ his core muscles.

At the same time, he jerked his head to the side in a short fit of anger. The motion completely knocking lose the glasses that previously sat crookedly on his face and sending them clattering onto the floor.

Not like being able to see more than an arm’s leng—

... More than a few _feet_ in front of him was really needed right now.

It had only been a couple of weeks since the incident that left him in his current state. That first night with his children, whom he had sent home to bed proper the following night, had been the only time he had any sort of _real_ reprieve. Because even when recovering from injuries as severe as this, a man like him didn’t exactly have the leisure of recovering in _peace_.

As soon as his children had been escorted out, in came the limited members of his staff possessing the clearance to know of his condition with members of the prosthetic development team in tow. His immediate input for the designs and finer mechanisms involved in his future prostheses required right then and there. And all in attendance seemed rather excited that, not only was he reviewing and improving upon their designs, but that he would be _using_ them. The female members of the crew, as well as a few of the men, seemingly more interested and giddy at being given complete control over the design process towards the prosthetic for his _other_ missing equipment over his arms.

Whatever made them happy, he supposed.

He hardly cared about whatever modifications they thought to add to him at this point in time.

His only concern was that the arms would be up to his detailed oral specifications…

And that both sets be made to fit compartmentalized phaser canons, of course.

He would NOT be caught with his metaphorical and literal pants down AGAIN if he had anything to say about it.

Next time his life should be in danger, the perpetrator would have another thing coming...!

And then in came the _lawyers_ …

He was just barely finished speaking with the prosthetic team before they swarmed the room, shouting to be heard over one another as each brought up lawsuits made by the parents of one of the children that had witnessed his horrible accident. One even deeming it fit to pull up the _recording_ of what'd happened for the Professor to see for himself his limbs being torn off from a third person's perspective.

 _ON LOOP_.

With every playback of the footage, he felt anger boiling inside of him until the sound of his legal team bickering and reading case files were nothing but a high pitched ringing in his ears. Then before he knew it, he was shouting at them at full volume to—

**_“GET OUT.”_ **

His next coherent memory involved him being held down to his bed with an oxygen mask pressed over his face by a nurse giving him a diazepam injection. Apparently, he’d had a panic attack that resulted in his throat closing up and rendering him incapable of breathing.

They kept him under observation even after that, even once his children had gone home for the night and he'd regained consciousness.

And yet, even after _that_ , he _still_ had to deal with the lawyers sending him emails that required _immediate_ correspondence. Bless the nursing student that'd been assigned to watch over him and her willingness to put up with typing out his responses for him. He was definitely going to make sure she actually got paid for her work and not just college credit as was originally written into her contract. The poor girl had seemed more anxious than _he_ was before even before he had essentially dumped and made her entirely responsible for handling part of his legal trouble until Lucius—his loyal assistant and friend, Lucius Simmons—finally arrived and took the reigns. The man assuring him he would do his best so he could recover in peace as best as he could so he would not have to resort to having the nearest nurse aid fill out forms in his stead again.

_But what else was he supposed to do?_

_He was still missing his damned ARMS and—_

The Professor took in another deep breath to calm himself when he heard the persistent beep of the heart monitor quicken from how he’d nearly worked himself into another fit. If it had increased any further before he stopped himself, his staff would start filing into the room again to ensure he was alright and then perform every single test in the book on him to be 100% sure. And that was the LAST thing he wanted.

All he wanted right now was to _rest_ without someone constantly hovering by his bedside.

Even if just for a moment.

However long he could get for some proper shut-eye before his children arrived…

Which ended up being no more than five minutes…

He cracked open one of his sunken eyes at the recognizable WOOSH of his treatment room’s door sliding open. His gaze immediately fell first to the nurse carrying a tray of what would serve as his lunch, causing his body to tense as his remaining upper lip twitched in annoyance. But it wasn’t this nurse he had a quarrel with. Cynthia was actually one of the few that wasn’t constantly trying to worm her way into his good graces in hopes of becoming the ‘next’–as if there were EVER a first– _Mrs. Membrane_.

No, it was what he knew sat on the tray that drew his ire.

The same damned meals he’d been spoon-fed the last time.

And the time before that.

And the time before _that_.

However, the Professor managed to quell his irritation by allowing his tired and sunken eyes to drift further down. His gaze softening and muscles relaxing completely at the blurry but still recognizable blobs of his two tiny children rushing over to climb up onto the bed with him.

“Good morning, children!” He shifted as much as he could, using his legs and ab muscles to try and sit up fully.

“Ah, ah, ah—” Cynthia immediately tsked at him as she set the tray on the meal table, using her other hand to push him back down against the, admirably, comfortable mattress. “No getting up just yet for you, Professor.”

“Yeah dad,” Gaz chimed in agreement and all he could do was groan and grumble under his breath. “don't force yourself.” she slung off the backpack that she’d brought in with her onto the bed. The contents of the bag all things Membrane had become more than familiar with already in his time recovering thus far.

Her Game Slave.

A collection of her favorite games.

A book.

Her Laptop.

And her 4th-grade skoolwork handed out for her to do over the summer before classes began.

That last one was still a bit difficult for him to fully grasp since it meant she was actually NINE and _not_ seven _._ Just coming to terms of Dib entering _5th-grade_ had been more than what he had been expecting to deal with _._ He still felt embarrassment over the exchange that had happened between him and his son after he and his sister had made it _very clear_ they weren’t going to skool once even once summer ended until he was cleared to go home with them.

_“You’re in… third grade now?”_

_“…Fifth-grade, dad…”_

He really had to start keeping better track of those sorts of—

“You look like dog dookie…” Dib speaking up and poking at the bags under his eyes, which had only worsened with each passing day, pulled the Professor out of his internal musings.

He opened his mouth to speak but found he couldn’t really come up with a fitting retort. He was frankly too _dead tired_ to make up some kind of explanation for his appearance.

Thankfully Cynthia was there to respond in his place.

“Now, now, that’s a rude thing to say to your father.” She said while wiping off his glasses she’d picked up off the floor. “Here you are.” She slipped the legs of his glasses over his exposed ears and pushed them into place on the bridge of his nose.

“Thank you, Cynthia.” He said with forced politeness. He would _kill_ to have his beloved headset back instead. But by PEG, if he were to put it on _now_ the HUD would just be constantly spammed with _even more_ communications from his lawyers and hired staff than what he was _already_ dealing with. Even with Lucius' acting as the middle man taking the brunt of it all.

“You really need to stop tossing your head so much that these fall off. You’ll only make your eyes worse with how much you have to squint without them.” Cynthia continued and Membrane just rolled his eyes after she turned her back to him. His annoyed response causing Gaz to snicker in amusement.

Dib suddenly pointed a finger at his sister.

“… _Gaz also refuses to wear—_ ”

Before he could even finish that statement, he received a hard punch to the stomach that caused him to curl into himself in Membrane’s lap.

“Kids…” the Professor pleaded quietly for them not to needlessly make a scene. Thankfully, Cynthia hadn’t been paying attention enough to witness what just happened. “Please…”

“Sorry, dad.”

“Sorry…”

They both apologized and righted themselves to sit on either side of him as Cynthia rolled the meal table over. The height was set just right so they could see and reach everything on it without needing to stand and so that it was practically in Membrane’s own lap. On the tray was a bowl of chicken broth, a cup of tea with a bag still steeping in it, and several servings of pudding. One for him and one for both Dib and Gaz as well.

Ignoring the broth and copious amounts of pudding, the Professor set his eyes on the cup of tea in front of him.

“Lipton tea again?”

“I’m sorry, Fess, it was all that was left.” Cynthia apologized and he could only sigh in response.

“I never think about my wealth too much but _really_? I’m rich and this is the best my own company can give me...?” he hadn’t realized he’d said that all aloud until Cynthia’s offer of picking up something else he’d like better on her way into work reached his ears. “Oh, no! _Nooo,_ Cynthia!” He quickly snapped his head up and shook it in adamant refusal as she lifted the cup up for him. “Don’t put yourself out on my account…! You’ve been nothing but helpful.”

He leaned his head forward to bring his mouth to the raised cup and took a sip of the hot liquid. Even if the brand used was that cheap stuff he hated, he had to hand it to Cynthia for knowing well enough just how he liked his tea to even make _this_ taste passable.

“Enough honey and sugar, Professor?”

“Yes, the tea is good, thank you!” He nodded as she set the cup back down in its saucer before bowing out to leave. After all, none of the nurses had been the ones feeding him his meals. His children had apparently fought for the right to do it themselves during one of his drug-induced slumbers.

But as Cynthia was headed out, Gaz suddenly hit her brother in his stomach a second time.

“ _Ow!_ What–oh!” Dib’s face suddenly lit up with realization and he quickly started rummaging around in the suitcase he had started carrying around with him everywhere lately.

Before the Professor could so much as raise a brow to ask what was going on, his son had hopped down from the bed and stopped Cynthia at the door by tugging at her pant leg. Only when she had turned around and bent to the boy’s eye level did Membrane get a good enough look at what Dib had pulled from his briefcase. What he handed off to Cynthia was a _very_ familiar tea tin he hadn’t seen in quite a while.

One he firmly remembered placing in one of the cupboards too high for either of his children to reach on their own.

How had they gotten to it? Had they climbed on the counters and gotten on one another’s shoulders to reach? They could’ve seriously gotten themselves hurt doing that!

Yet they still…

The Professor lightly laughed to himself as he blinked away the tears beginning to form in the corner of his eyes. Gaz taking notice and reaching up to wipe them away for him using her sleeve.

They really were his children, weren’t they?

“Come on dad,” Gaz urged as she lifted the bowl of broth up and held a spoonful of the liquid up to his lips. “you need to take your broth before it gets all cold and gross.”

Membrane’s eyes flickered down to the bowl in his daughter’s hands and he immediately clenched his metal teeth. A comment about how his jaw prosthetic was still working and how unnecessary this strict diet was escaping his vocal processor before he even knew it.

“Dad, you can't exactly digest anything _solid_ right now.” Gaz frowned, drawing attention to the tubing snaking out from under the blankets that the Professor had been trying VERY HARD TO IGNORE THE EXISTENCE OF. “Diana _literally_ ripped you a new one.”

“Don’t mention Diana to me, Gazlene,” He sighed in defeat. His prehensile limb of hair seeming to droop lower than it already had been since he was admitted. “ _Please_.”

“Do you want to try and feed yourself again instead?” Dib, having climbed back onto the bed, asked while pointing at his father’s spike of hair.

“Hm…” The distraction his son provided at that moment was appreciated. The Professor then flexing the hair limb experimentally and attempting to arch it forward to take hold of the spoon Gaz presented him. However, it could not curl tightly enough to hold the small utensil and use it effectively. “No, I think not.” He finally said as he allowed it to return to its normal position, letting out another annoyed huff.

Without further complaint, he resigned himself to being fed the broth by his children. Neither of them touching their pudding until he’d down the last spoonful of Broth and sip of tea. Only then did they allow themselves to eat with the same level of enthusiasm one would eat flavorless crackers. Occasionally they would lift a spoonful from their individual servings for him, and, while Membrane knew he was no food critique, he had to admit it didn’t taste _that_ bad _._ It was just the repetitiveness of it every day that had him feeling mildly repulsed by the taste.

However, something about how they were eating the pudding couldn’t help but cause a nagging feeling in the back of Membrane’s mind.

“Do you both enjoy the pudding _that_ much?” he finally spoke the questions gnawing at him. “It’s all I’ve seen you children eat when visiting. You needn't restrict your diets on my account... If that’s what you’re doing?”

“Eh.” Gaz shrugged.

“It’s not as bad as the canned beans at home.” Dib shrugged himself before shoving another spoonful of pudding into his mouth.

“I’m sorry, son…” Membrane shook his head lightly, unsure if he heard right. “‘Canned _beans’_?”

“That’s all that’s left in the pantry.”

…What?

“Yeah, we’re still waiting on the automated monthly allowance you give us to process into our accounts so we can get some groceries.” Gaz added.

…WHAT?!

_HAD HE REALLY NOT BEEN HOME IN SO LONG THAT THEY DIDN’T EVEN HAVE ANY **FOOD** LEFT?!_

“When–Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?” Membrane could already hear the heart monitor going off more frequently in time with the pounding in his chest. Breathing once more was becoming a struggle he was quickly losing.

“It’s not the first time.” Dib blinked and quirked a brow at him as if confused.

NOT THE FIRST—

“Dad…?”

“…Are you—”

“DAD!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c


	2. Chapter 2

“Cynthia, I know I just told you earlier you didn't need to put yourself out—but PLEASE help restock the kitchen for my children!”

These were the first words that flew out from the Professor’s mouth once his attack had passed and he had thoroughly calmed himself. Another shot of diazepam had been needed, but he hardly noticed Cynthia withdrawing the needle from the IV catheter hooked up to his chest. Just like he hadn’t when she’d first come rushing in just mere seconds after Gaz had slammed her fist on the emergency call button. Both children had been quite spooked by their father’s response and required her reassurance as she took care of his most recent fit.

Professor Membrane knew just how _alien_ it was—and the irony of that sentence wasn’t lost on him—for them to see their father this way. Sure, they’d seen him run in fear during the Christmas season more than once when Santa imagery was prevalent around the city. But _never_ in the way they’d just witnessed happening. He would always manage to get a good distance away before anyone could seem him completely unravel.

But now running wasn’t a physical possibility.

“ _Please_ ,” the Professor pleaded, attempting to shove the feelings of weakness and uselessness cropping up at Dib and Gaz bearing witness to his panic attack. “I will pay you back triple whatever income you end up spending!”

Cynthia only stared at him wide-eyed, confusion evident on her face at this seemingly odd and out of nowhere request.

“Why are you asking your nurse to take us to get groceries?” Dib spoke up, expressing his own confusion at the second sudden turn their situation was taking. And as a result, making the Professor himself confused by the questioning.

Gaz, however, seemed to easily put together what was going on.

“This happening so often never was some weird lesson about the value of money and how we should spend our allowance, was it?”

“… _No!_ ” Membrane’s voice rose an octave, but his volume remained level. “Why would you both think I would—”

“ _Professor_ …” Cynthia’s voice tone sent a cold chill up his spine as he slowly pulled his gaze away from his flabbergasted children towards the older woman standing at his bedside.

He instantly regretted it.

Cynthia was looking at him with complete and utter disappointment and anger. It was almost as if she were finding out her _own son_ , rather than her _boss_ , had been so neglectful towards grandchildren she’d never known she had till now. And given the twenty-year gap between them both, it wasn’t difficult to understand why she would look at him with those eyes.

 _Science_ , those eyes.

The Professor may have been a man of great physical stature—he damn near stood over seven feet tall with his hair taken into account—but the way those eyes burned into his made him feel so very, _very_ , small.

They were the _same exact eyes,_ even down to the deep brown coloring, that his _actual_ mother would often stare him down with as a child. The similarity alone causing him to flashback to just before he was severely punished for breaking one of the only family heirlooms they’d had left.

Oh, she’d be FURIOUS were she still alive to see him now.

That thought sent a shiver through Membrane’s spine and, on childhood reflex, his head lowered and shoulders hunched in preparation for a lecture.

That action was a mistake.

Shifting his shoulders even just slightly caused his body to be wracked with the intense phantom pains he’d only just experienced this morning. But Cynthia was able to quickly pick up on his predicament from how he suddenly let out a strangled cry and curled in on himself.

Using one hand, she pushed him back into resting against the raised mattress while the other adjusted the medication output levels of his IV drip. Both hands then moving to gently rub at the bandaged nubs that were his shoulders once she was finished. The wounds at this point were more than certainly healed thanks to the salves his team had developed, but she maintained a careful application of pressure all the same as she massaged them.

She said something once the pain faded, but Membrane hardly registered it. His mind reeling and thoughts now headed down a path they had never ventured down before.

How did his other employees view his parenting skills?

Had none of this happened, he may have brushed off any concerns or comments from those who weren’t always attempting to figuratively and literally kiss up to him. Because he knew the latter group wouldn’t _dare_ speak against him from his memories about Dib receiving electro-shock therapy and being sent to the Crazy House for Boys multiple times alone. As for others like Cynthia and maybe even Lucius at times… Hell, he may have just downright ignored them if they said anything. If not just come up with some invention or experiment to “fix” the problem they had with his parenting methods to prove them wrong out of spite. After all, Dib and Gaz’s _very existence_ was initially the result of being told that successful human clones living past infancy just wasn’t scientifically possible. As was the very concept of keeping and raising them as his own. The starting forms of attachment he’d developed to them had been a part of it, yes, but a comment from one of the female staff working alongside him on the project had been what inevitably steeled his resolve and lit a fire under him.

_“Being a single parent of a newborn isn’t easy, Professor, even for someone of your accomplishments. Though, maybe if you had a wi–”_

She had likely been going to say more after that but he’d slammed a hand on the table and referred to that claim as pure _insanity_. After all, _his_ father had been able to raise him entirely on his own perfectly fine after his mother passed. How hard could being a parent while working full time actually be?

The result of slamming his fist and raising his voice had been his first hint with how quickly the infant Dibromide (Experiment D at the time) burst into tears.

Several attempts at soothing and speed-reading through multiple infant care eBooks in his office later, the Professor readjusted and altered his routines to accommodate his clone son he carried around the lab constantly held or had strapped to his chest. All hazardous and potentially dangerous experiments from that point being supervised by someone other than him with the reports sent to his office for review and feedback.

Then he had to adjust further the moment infant Gazlene (Experiment G) came into the picture as a success. His prehensile hair limb that was the result of an experiment from his childhood proving useful in ensuring he at least had _one_ hand free as he cared for them. No matter how sleep deprived or ragged he became, he pushed on to prove the naysayers wrong through sheer determination combined with the adoration for his little creations.

Had he shifted towards granting them independence from his constant hovering and literal hand-holding too soon? He’d thought with how they’d been genetically altered to be vastly superior in intellect—and strength in Gaz’s case—to normal children that it was more than _perfectly fine_ to start much sooner than was advised in the research he’d done. And he had a _company_ to run and a _planet_ to better, after all! He had to get back in the game sooner or later if he wanted to improve the world they lived in before they reached adulthood themselves!

He already knew that’s where things had begun going wrong from the first wakeup call to his failings as a father he'd received.

He just hadn’t realized all the additional wrongs that had been perpetuated from that decision going forward.

His inability to manage his own time without Lucius keeping track of his appointments caused him to miss several birthdays. And his belief that a single mandatory family dinner out of the house was more than enough for bonding paired with how rarely he took his meals at home was why they were so low on food. So _often_ and to the point they thought he was trying to _teach them a life lesson_.

And once he had started thinking about where else he had gone wrong, he couldn’t stop. They were all he could focus on as the rest of the day ticked by…

When the shift change for the day finally happened, Cynthia took his children shopping just as he’d asked. And the next day when they came to visit they spoke of how she’d even gone above and beyond by sticking around to cook them dinner. Both Membrane children forgetting themselves as they recounted the previous night’s meal to him and how it was the _best food_ they’d ever had. Only realizing after they’d made these comments how their sleep-deprived father’s already somber mood visibly worsened on the spot.

An oppressive and incredibly awkward silence fell over the room as they ate their servings of pudding. Both Dib and Gaz actively avoiding eye contact with their father and no longer offering him spoonfuls from their portions as they had done before. Their focus instead on the TV set playing back an episode from some _dreadful_ talk show on mute with subtitles at the bottom.

The silence only caused Membrane’s mind to spiral further into the same depressing thought patterns he’d been wallowing in the day before. The more he was left to his own thoughts with no way to distract himself, the more he became merely a hollow shell of his former self.

But then Gaz finally breaking the silence in a soft mumbly voice snapped him out of it.

“Getting to eat with you is still better.”

Hearing those words caused a warmth to spread through the Professor’s chest as his glazed over eyes suddenly regained a bit of life to them.

“Is that true, daughter?”

“Yeah.” The answer was curt and short, as was normal for Gaz, but it was more than enough for Membrane.

“Perhaps then… We should continue having regular family meals as opposed to what we had before once I’m no longer… _indisposed..._ ” He made the suggestion with a bit of hesitance, something he rarely expressed at all when making decisions. A brief flashback to their last family night and his blatant refusal to make a compromise and reschedule when Dib had gotten held up at his little foreigner friend’s flitting through his mind.

Both children paused in their motions as they finally raised their heads to look at him again. Gaz’s eyes were blown wide open in surprise while Dib had pudding dribbling down his chin.

“Really?”

“You mean that?”

They both spoke simultaneously, drawing a chuckle from the Professor.

“I give my word as a scientist.” he said, but Dib suddenly began squinting at him almost suspiciously.

“How do we know you won’t just forget and go back to always working like normal once you’re all better?” Dib’s accusation caused his sister’s eyes to flicker towards him as her expression morphed back into its usual distant frown.

What little face Membrane had to express himself fell at that.

“I gave you children my word I would do better.” He said as a reaffirmation of his vows from when he’d first regained consciousness in the very same bed he sat in now. “And I intend to keep it. Being unable to move independently or throw myself into my work has forced me to reevaluate many of the decisions I’ve made as a parent up until now. And I’ve come to see more than two-thirds of them were less than… _Ideal_.” He grimaced at his own admittance to his failings. “Plus, I believe it will be… quite a while before I regain my independence. Let alone be able to return to work.”

“Aren’t they already working on prosthetic arms for you though?” Dib questioned, setting aside his pudding and shifting in his father’s lap to reach up and rub what was left of his right shoulder.

“Mm, yes. But I still have to undergo more additional surgeries and rehabilitation training.” Membrane let out a soft sigh, letting his eyes fall closed at his son’s touch. “And the development of prostheses capable of full motion control is nowhere near where I would like it. Especially for those in my predicament missing _both_ arms.”

He continued to ramble on about the specifics behind it. How with thought control prostheses it was only possible to move one alternate limb at a time presently. How the way his brain specifically sent signals to control arm movement needed to be virtually recorded. The possibility of more of his shoulders being removed in order to better fit his new arms. Everything.

Both his children listened to him explain and appeared to hang onto his every word. Sometimes asking questions between his explanations when they didn’t fully understand how he’d put something the first time or when he failed to give one for a certain aspect he suddenly brought up. Talking about the entire process to them ultimately helping them further understand and come to terms with his situation. It would be a long time until he was back to his “normal” self. He wouldn’t be bouncing back in just a couple of months' time like they appeared to have been expecting would happen.

He WISHED that were the case.

Were it not for his children, the Professor was sure he’d probably have lost his mind already from being cooped up in this small and restrictive space. Giving in completely to the creeping depression that clawed at his brain seeking a place of permanent purchase.

Eventually, there was nothing more he could tell them without access to his files. By then Dib and Gaz remembering the existence of their pudding lunch and continuing to consume it at a rate meant to make it last as long as possible. The visual once again reminding the Professor of their food predicament and how he could combat his own absentmindedness to prevent that from happening again in the future.

The retired Foodio project instantly popped into his head. Retired due to what had happened in the development phase when his son had some sort of mental break and reprogrammed one of the prototypes into trying to destroy the planet. The end result being all funding being pulled and alternative means of solving world hunger had to be looked into.

Now that the Professor had the time to think about it, maybe all of his son’s mental lapses were no one’s fault but his own. Another aspect of where he’d actually gone wrong with his children instead of his self-absorbed belief that the only thing wrong was just where their interests happened to lie. By PEG, had he really only cared before that his son show interests in fields he was sure to be financially successful in over anything else? Had he _really_ allowed for part of his petty and spiteful attitude to even extend towards these little scientific marvels born from his own DNA?

That was just another thing he would have to work on throughout this. Right now, mentally compiling his ideas for the old Foodio prototypes in the offsite storage that he would give to his staff on their next check-in was more important. The concept of the bots’ functionalities being repurposed and fitted to synthesizing perfectly nutritious meals on a family scale instead of citywide mass production. If the changes were successful, they could still be implemented on a planetwide scale as originally intended. The main difference would only be the bots would be what was mass-produced rather than a single Foodio mass-producing food for all the world’s people as the original concept intended.

But whether or not it could be applied to a world-wide scale wasn’t his main concern right now.

And more importantly, while wrapped up in his plotting, Gaz had flung a spoonful of pudding into her brother’s face for some reason.

“Gazlene…!” He instantly spoke up in a warning tone of voice as Dib attempted to wipe the pudding from his glasses.

“He wouldn’t stop _talking_.” Was the reasoning his daughter gave for her blatant misuse of pudding.

“Talking?” He hadn’t realized his son had been saying anything while he’d been mentally going over schematics and plans he would have to verbally direct his staff into recreating. “Honey, I thought I told you just because your brother likes to talk—”

“You only say that cause you’re not the one always listening to it.” Gaz cut him off as she finished off her pudding and began digging through her bag for her Game Slave and pair of headphones. Clearly adamant to drown out whatever it was her brother had been going on about before Membrane’s attention was pulled back into the world outside his own head.

The Professor really didn’t have anything he could say that countered that observation of hers. Especially since, in his time spent looking back on his past interactions with his children, he really never did pay attention to anything his son had to say more than 70% of the time.

Perhaps his current predicament would serve as a good starting point to fix that. And at the very least, it would be better than listening to the drivel spouted on public television airing between all the reruns of his show. Reruns he had _tried_ to get someone on his legal team to put a stop to since deciding to cancel it, but he ultimately had no say in the matter. And if he had to hear about any more lawsuits it would STILL be too soon.

“What was it you were telling your sister, son?”

Dib paused momentarily in cleaning his glasses, nearly dropping the lenses all together in brief surprise. He opened his mouth to make some sort of comment, but then almost immediately snapped it shut and pressed his lips into a thin line. Almost as if uncharacteristically taking the time to choose his words carefully rather than outright speaking his mind as he normally would.

Membrane wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Just… ZiM tried following me here last week after I picked up our skoolwork from Miss. Bitters.” the boy practically mumbled as he finished wiping off his glasses and pushed them back over the bridge of his nose.

“Oh… Is that all?” Membrane tried to recall a particular day from the week before when Dib had arrived later than his sister and appeared rather out of breath. Almost as if he had run a whole marathon on the way over. That was also ironically the only part of the day he had any recollection of. “You know, son… I would personally be fine with it if your friend stopped by for a visit.”

“What?!”

“He’s clearly concerned for your well being and wants to know you’re doing well while your father is...” The Professor looked down towards himself and Dib followed his gaze. The expression of anger that had been on the boy’s face mere moments ago melting away completely. “I would just like a bit of warning in advance before he stopped by to ‘put my face on’ as the saying goes. Few are able to handle the appearance of my exposed facial prosthetic. You and your sister responded more positively than most.”

Dib stared at him silently. Tiny fists clenching and unclenching in his lap as he flashed a glance at Gaz as if for help. But she was far too absorbed in her game of Tetris 99 to notice.

“… _Okay_.” He finally said with a sigh. “I’ll tell him he… Can come… _Visit_ you… With _me_ …”

It was almost like saying those words physically _pained_ the younger Membrane. And the elder could only raise a brow in concern and confusion. Especially since it didn’t sound as though his son was being truthful in that statement of inviting his friend along. But he chose not to push the matter and instead shifted the conversational topic.

“Why don’t you explain to me just what those ‘cryptid’ things you always show so much interest in are?”

Dib’s eyes were as wide as saucers at that.

“You… You _want_ to listen to me talk about the paranormal?!” Suddenly he was standing in Membrane’s lap to poke and prod at what little organic bits of his face remained. “Are you _sure_ you’re actually my dad? Not some clone?”

Membrane wanted to laugh at that question for the sheer sake of how ironic it was for Dib of all people to ask.

“Yes, son, I’m sure.” He nodded. “I never really paid attention to any of your explanations before and, well… I can’t use the excuse of being busy now, can I?”

“That is true…” Dib admitted as he cupped his chin. His little brows furrowing deeply with thought.

“Well, go on.” Membrane urged when it seemed as though his son wouldn’t take him up on the offer in the end. “Educate me in your paranormal studies and stories, my boy.”

Dib looked at him like a deer in headlights for a moment before suddenly lighting up and letting out an excited little squeak of joy.

“Okay, let me just set things up!’

The boy hopped off the bed to retrieve what he had referred to his ‘alien-hunting briefcase’ when Membrane had last asked him about it to retrieve his laptop. Then the next moment he was back in bed beside the elder Membrane and talking about the different creatures and places he had done research on. Pulling up pictures and articles to point at and have him look over whenever applicable.

Of course, it was all still just nonsense to the Professor. But he had to admit seeing his boy so overjoyed over being able to finally share his strange and eccentric hobby with him brought a sense of parental pride. Perhaps he would allow him to indulge in his hobby for a while longer before attempting to usher him towards more realistic fields of study again. After all, what would be the harm in it?

At some point, Professor Membrane began to doze and was reawoken by his son lightly touching at his face.

“I’m… _Boring_ you, aren’t I?” the boy suddenly seemed sad and sullen.

“No, son, no you’re not!” the Professor assured with a shake of his head. His eyelids growing heavy as the lack of sleep from fretting over his children and bouts of phantom pain from the night before began catching up to him. “Your father is just very tired right now. Please, continue with your story.”

Dib looked taken aback briefly and grumbled something under his breath that Membrane could hardly hear before doing just that.

It wasn’t long before he felt small fingers pushing at the bags under his eyes again.

“Are you sure this isn’t boring?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure…!” The Professor couldn’t even shake his head this time. “Don’t worry, son. I really am just that tired today…”

“Okay…”

This cycle repeated a few more times until Dib was no longer able to wake him back up again.

He could just finish telling him about the different Were-creature sub-species tomorrow anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you're a better dad to your kids in the span of a month since losing both arms than you were the past five years.


End file.
